Experimental Steps
by DamnI'mRandom
Summary: Sherlock's bored - what's new? He's frustrating John - as usual. He lets out all his anger and all of his feelings via an experiment conducted on John, who's his newest guinea pig. And in the end, everyone's happy! Johnlock - SLASH.


**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own any of the characters. I only wish Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat were kinder with them, also that they wouldn't ruin our lives.

**WARNING:** Slash. Don't like, don't read. Even though _everyone_ ships Johnlock.

x—x

Dr John Watson squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the man sitting in the armchair, who noticed and looked away immediately. John sighed and returned his attention to the laptop screen in front of him. He'd been in this position for the past hour-and-half, trying to write his new blog entry, but he'd been distracted by his flatmate. Sherlock had been staring at him disconcertingly all this while. It was unnatural. It was _unnerving. _Sherlock Holmes _never _sat so still – his eyes were always flitting around, never settling in one place. Always taking in the tiniest details in the tiniest places, which even the best of the police force missed. But this? No, this was most definitely _not _Normal Sherlock Behaviour.

_Okay, concentrate, _John told himself firmly. Taking a deep breath, he started typing a few words, but he hadn't got along far when he heard a quiet clearing of the throat.

'Yes, what is it, Sherlock?'

'Nothing. What gave you the idea that I wanted anything? I was simply clearing my throat.'

'_Of _course you were. I'm trying to work here, as you can see. You not disturbing me would be ideal.'

'Work? Pfft. Don't make me laugh. You're just writing in that silly blog of yours.'

'It's hardly silly when it gets us all our cases. People actually _read _my blog, Sherlock, not your boring website.'

'Alright then. Go back to your oh-so-important blog. Don't mind me, I'll just be sitting here.'

'Yeah, it's really hard to notice you if you're staring at me all the time.' John muttered under his breath.

The sound of fingers striking keys filled the room once more. _Maybe I'll finally be able to complete my blog entry,_ John thought hopefully. He kept an eye out nevertheless. One could never know with Sherlock Holmes. Peace reigned for a short while. But it wasn't very long until –

'Agh! _Goddammit_, what's that terrible noise?'

For Sherlock had taken out his violin and was creating a cacophony by playing the most horrible tune on it.

'Sherlock! Put that god-awful instrument down at once!' came Mrs Hudson's pained voice from below.

'But I'm boooooooored!' Sherlock whined like a petulant child.

'Well, erm, go look at some specimens under your microscope, then. Just don't start shooting at the wall, please, I might get hit.'

Sherlock strode to the counter-top, which was a complete mess, and sat himself down on the high stool. John had no idea how many bacteria had given birth on that surface, what with the shrunken skulls and the literally _thousands_ of toxic or bordering-on-toxic chemicals festering there. And he couldn't clear anything out for fear of disturbing yet _another_ of Sherlock's many experiments. Really, he couldn't even open the jam jar without finding a finger or two in it. It was, frankly, extremely disturbing (especially when he was in the mood to eat jam and toast in the morning before going to work), but his mind had somehow immunised itself against all this grisliness. As of right now, there were three heads residing in the refrigerator, along with a packet of pinkie fingers collected from the various crimes they'd solved this week (quite a big number) and a few bloody toenails prised off the victims' innocent toes.

John sighed. _He's impossible_, he thought exasperatedly. _How do I even put up with him?_

_Maybe_, another part of his brain answered, _maybe it's because you're in love with him._

_Oh, shut up,_ the sensible part of his brain snapped back.

_But you know it's true…_ the other part taunted maliciously.

It _was_ true – that was the worst. That was easy to forget when Sherlock was being his usual annoying self – the man was maddening, infuriating, detestable to the point that sometimes, John had the violent urge to strangle him. But he was also eccentrically brilliant, exceedingly handsome and strangely adorable – he remembered the Irene Adler case, when Sherlock had regained half-consciousness in the middle of the night. The way he'd called out, 'Jawn!' – not 'John', _never _'John', it was _always_ 'Jawn' – needily and then collapsed to the floor. It had helped John realise that he had feelings for his best and only friend. The feelings had intensified when he'd seen the way Irene had acted around Sherlock. He'd been driven blind with rage and jealousy at the sight, and it had taken all his willpower to stop himself from attacking the dominatrix and pulling her off his friend. Why couldn't _he_ ever get to do what she was doing?

'Jawn,' he heard Sherlock drawl presently, pulling him back to the drudgery that was _now_.

'W_hat?'_

'Nothing.'

'Well, stop calling me, then!'

'Why are you always so irritated, John?'

John grimaced. Sherlock may perhaps have been the densest person he'd ever known. Oh, criminals and human psychology may be his strong suit, but the workings of the human heart – physically yes, but definitely not the emotional aspect it entailed. _How to explain the vagaries of the heart to Sherlock Holmes?_ was the question of the hour.

John himself wasn't sure of how he'd gone from a perfectly heterosexual man to a… well, _Sherlock-sexual_ one. But it definitely wasn't because he spent almost every waking moment either a) catching cold-blooded killers or would-be cold-blooded killers with Sherlock, or b) clearing up after each of his shenanigans. Nope. Not at all. Now that it was out there, here was something he hadn't admitted even to himself. Was he just attracted to Sherlock, or men in general?

No, just Sherlock. Because he couldn't remember ever checking another man out, just Sherlock. He and Irene Adler agreed on one thing, at least – Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective was a fine specimen of _homo sapiens._ Those blue, _blue_ eyes, and those _cheekbones!_ And his dark, curly hair that just seemed to sit atop his head with flawless grace, never a bad hair day. And his fetish for purple shirts – damn, John was obsessed with those.

Abandoning all attempts at writing (because really, who could do anything while thoughts of Sherlock Holmes pervaded their mind?), he pushed out of his chair and ran a hand over his face. He got up and headed towards the kitchen.

'Where are you going?' the other man asked.

'Tea.' John replied shortly. He set the much-abused kettle on the stove to boil.

'Make me some, too.'

And there they sat on the sofa, two very British men sipping their very British Earl Grey. John couldn't help but notice how familial this setting looked. Sherlock set down his half-empty cup abruptly and turned to John, his eyes glittering.

'I'm conducting an experiment, and I need you to take part in it.'

'Why? Couldn't find any garden-pond frogs to be your guinea pigs? Or do it on one of the three heads lying in the fridge.'

'No.'

'What kind of – umph.'

Sherlock had scooted closer to John, pressing his lips onto the other's. John's eyes snapped shut automatically, revelling in the feeling. He kissed him back with all the passion he'd bottled up inside, fearing this may be the last time he got to indulge in this activity. He cupped Sherlock's cheek as Sherlock climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Sherlock's tongue was seeking entrance to his mouth desperately. John gave him what he wanted and the raven-haired man proceeded to ravish his mouth thoroughly.

They broke apart due to the lack of oxygen. Sherlock was breathing rather heavily and had a dazed look on his usually emotionless face.

The detective cleared his throat tentatively and said, 'So.'

John simply gaped for a while. He was momentarily mind-blown. _Whoa. Yeah, I think I'm a better guinea pig for this experiment than frogs and severed heads._ Sherlock got off his lap to stand and he almost groaned.

'Wha… what was that?' he stuttered once he'd found his tongue.

'Given that you have considerably more experience in this field than I do, I assume you know what that was. I believe it's called a _kiss_.'

'Why?'

'I told you. Experiment.'

'What did you want to find out, anyway?'

Sherlock evaded the question and began deducing, 'You look _extremely _flustered, your cheeks are red, your breathing is irregular, as is your heartbeat. Your pupils are dilated, your lips keep twitching, and unless I'm mistaken – which I _hope _I'm not – you feel the same way.'

'The same way? I don't get it.'

The detective snorted. 'Do you expect me to believe you're that dumb? I really don't think so. What I mean is that I realised I have intense… _feelings_,' he spat the word out in disgust, 'for you, which is why I conducted this experiment to find out how you felt about me.'

His little speech was met with silence.

'John?' Sherlock asked, flummoxed. It was rare that Sherlock was bewildered, but this was one of the times that he was well and truly bewildered. John had responded well to his kiss – he would be so bold as to say that he'd been kissed back with much passion – but why was he silent now? Why wasn't he saying anything? He'd kept his feelings hidden for so long, but lately it had been getting hard to concentrate when John was in the same _room_, let alone in close proximity. Even in his Mind Palace, images of John H. Watson kept cropping up to distract him from the task at hand.

Sherlock's words crashed down on John's ears. '_I have intense… feelings for you.'_

Was that really what he'd said?

'You ponce!' John roared, pouncing on top of him, tackling him back onto the sofa. 'Experiment, my arse. Couldn't you just have _told_ me?'

'Careful of the tea – you wouldn't want to waste precious Earl Grey, now would you? But do you feel the same way about me?'

He looked so lost John had to chuckle.

'To hell with the Earl Grey. And here I thought I was the one keeping secrets. Yes, of _course_ I feel the same way! Use your mind for something like this, for once, and you'd have got to know this a long time ago.'

'Oh. _Oh!'_ Sherlock's eyes widened.

'For someone with an IQ greater than Einstein's, you're so obtuse when it comes to feelings, and relationships and other stuff related to this.'

_He feels the same_. How many times had John wished for that? _He feels the same_. And that was all that mattered.

There was too much talk going on. Sherlock was saying something nonsensical – _hang on._ Sherlock rambling? This was something entirely new.

'Shut up.' John advised as he proceeded to kiss every bit of Sherlock's skin that was exposed to him – namely the neck. _Oh god, that _neck_!_ That smell of pine and chemical and something so uniquely _Sherlock_ overpowered his senses. He'd had _no_ idea he'd be missing out on all _this._

Sherlock , meanwhile, was taking in the glory that was a ferocious John Watson. When the latter did something wickedly amazing with his talented tongue, Sherlock whimpered slightly.

'What do you say to taking this to the bedroom?' he suggested.

John's mind went blank.

_What's coherent thought again?_

**THE END**


End file.
